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4€ohoniM3.DAY: 


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I  fERC/'FloRAH 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


Sducatlon 


GIFT  OF 


Louise  Farrow  Barr 


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BducatioB 
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harpsichord."  And  then  "  her  grandmother  [Mrs.  Wash- 
ington] made  her  practise  upon  it  four  or  five  hours  a 
day."  And  her  brother  adds  :  "  She  would  cry  and  play, 
and  play  and  cry  for  hours ! " 

Out  of  the  past  comes  this  picture  of  a  little  girl,  sitting 
at  a  tall  spinet,  or  harpsichord,  (which  was  the  first  kind  of 
piano),  and  someway  to  my  mind  comes  also  the  picture 
of  that  brother  probably  teasing  a  little  at  the  parlor  door, 
as  poor  Nellie  sat  "playing  and  crying";  for  if  brothers 
were  then  what  they  are  to-day,  that  is  very  likely  just 
what  he  did. 

Dear  little  maid !  I  can  see  her  as  she  sat,  toiling 
away  for  hours  with  her  warm  little  fingers,  and  with  her 
toes  dangling  down  from  a  tall  stool,  in  front  of  that  old 
harpsichord. 

Out  of  doors  the  sun  was  shining  warm  and  soft.  The 
birds  were  calling  to  her  to  say  how  lovely  it  was  out 
there,  and  the  roses  nodding  in  at  the  window  beckoned 
come  and  play  with  them. 


Ube  "fcarpsicborb  lesson. 


Her  brother,  with  a  wild  swirl  on  his  way  to  the  garden,  stopped  to  laugh  at  her  tears,  and  only  made 
them  worse.  She  evidently  did  not  love  music  ;  but  in  those  days  little  girls,  and  boys,  too,  had  to  do  as 
the  "grown-ups"  told  them  to,  and  never  thought  of  rebelling.  And  harpsichords  were  very  few  in  this 
country  when  it  was  a  new  country,  long  ago  ;  and  so  it  was  a  great  treat  to  many  people  who  came  to 
her  grandfather's  house,  to  hear  one  played. 

Dear  little  Nellie  Custis  !  I  wonder  how  many,  many  little  girls  since  her  time  have  sat  as  she 
did,  and  worked  as  hard  to  make  black  dots  on  lines  of  music  go  on  white  and  black  keys  of  ivory. 

That  very  same  harpsichord  is  still  standing  in  the  dim  old  room  in  the  mansion  where  she  lived ;  and 
as  you  see  it,  with  its  tall  legs,  there  is  always  a  picture  of  a  little  girl,  whose  weary  fingers  wandered  up  and 
down  its  key-board,  learning  to  make  music  for  others  to  enjoy. 


Out  of  History  s  dnsty  page 
Comes  a  little  maiden. 
Probably  about  your  age, 
With  sweet  graees  laden. 


Practising  the  long/iours  through. 
Scales  and  stately  measure, 
Patient,  learning  things  to  do 
Just  for  others'  pleasure. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/childrenofcoloniOOtuckrich 


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SWEET  little  Prudence  Wilson  was  learning  how  to 
spin.  It  was  rather  hard  work  for  the  tiny  arms  to 
reach  the  spindle  and  draw  the  thread — and  for  the  little 
toes  to  reach  the  ground  from  the  tall  stool  she  sat 
on,  was  quite  impossible:.     Still  Prudence  had  to  learn. 

The  day  was  bright  and  sunny,  and  dear  Sister  Ruth 
and  Prudence  took  embroidery  frame  and  spinning-wheel 
out  in  front  of  the  wide  hall  doors.  It  was  very  dis- 
tracting to  hear  the  birds  singing  overhead,  and  to  want 
so  much  to  watch  Wilfred  at  his  fencing  lesson  on  the 
lawn,  with  the  other  boys.  But  Prudence  had  to  learn, 
for  all  little  girls  then  were  taught  to  spin,  and  to  sew, 
and  to  embroider  the  stitches  on  samplers,  that  they 
would  want  to  know  how  to  do  when  they  were  young 
ladies.  So  Sister  Ruth  sang  over  her  embroidery  frame, 
and  little  Prudence  listened,  and  they  talked. 

Prudence  said,  "  When  I  grow  to  be  a  big  young 
lady  like  you.  Sister  Ruth,  I  shall  wear  a  lovely  pink 
gown  and  have  a  tall  lover  like  yours." 

^"  And  what  will  you  do  for  him,  little  Prudence,"  asked 
Sister  Ruth,  smiling  quietly  over  her  work. 


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Xearnlng  to  Spin. 


"  Oh,  I  will  make  him  a  beautiful,  beautiful  watch  chain,  all  spun  on  the 
spinning-wheel,  of  my  own,  own  hair,  which  shall  all  be  cut  ofif  to  make  the 
thread.  And  if  I  am  a  prisoner  in  a  castle  tower,  he  will  take  the  long,  long  chain 
spun  from  my  hair,  which  I  will  throw  him  down  from  my  window,  and  he  will 
climb  up  it  hand  over  hand,  and  take  me  in  his  arms,  and  climb  down  again,  and 
away  we  will  go,  and  live  happily  ever  after." 

"Very  well,"  said  Sister  Ruth,  "then.  Mistress  Prudence,  you  must  take 
your  arms  down  from  behind  your  head,  and  not  stop  to  dream  now,  but  learn  to 
spin  a  strong  thread,  with  no  knots  in  it." 

Then  Prudence  would  go  on  spinning  a  long  thread,  while  the  kittens  played 
with  the  other  end  of  it. 

Then  she  would  say,  "  Sister  Ruth,  why  does  Wilfred  have  play  in  the  open 
air,  while  I  have  to  sit  and  sew,  and  embroider,  and  spin  ?" 

Then  Sister  Ruth  smiled  again,  and  answered,  "  It  has  ever  been  the  way, 
dear  Prudence,  for  men  to  do  the  out-of-door  things,  and  manly  sports,  and 
for  maidens  to  do  the  gentle  things,  those  that  keep  us  quiet  in  the  house,  and  are 
useful  to  both  men  and  maids.     So  tend  to  your  quiet  work,  my  dear,  and  stitch  upon  stitch  is  the  only  way." 

So  the  sunny  day  came  to  a  close,  and  many  more  of  them  also  came  and  went.  And  many  years  of 
days  have  gone  since  then  ;  and  to-day  from  a  box,  with  a  musty  smell,  I  take  an  old  sampler  and  read  in  all 
the  stitches  this  story  of  long  ago. 

It  is  all  there  is  left — it,  and  an  old  spinning-wheel,  which  little  girls  to-day  do  not  know  how  to  use  at 
all.  Wilfred's  play  and  his  sword  are  long  ago  done  and  over,  yet  here  is  the  small  bit  of  stitching  that  has 
lasted  all  the  long  years,  to  tell  a  great-grandchild  the  story  of  a  little  girl's  fingers  patiently  going  in  and 
out,  while  her  small  feet  ached  to  run,  and  it  seems  to  me  a  rather  great  thing  to  have  done  something  that 
tells  such  a  sweet  story,  and  has  lasted  so  very,  very  long. 


■'// 


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'  ail  on  a  Minter's  Da^." 


l^T  THE   FLqn-'S/flKE^J  ^K<yi5T  U  MifSKfe.  LITTLE 
SLIFFEIT.  J®  SLIFFERTS    If  JQ^   I 
^nh  THE   lEST  i^MS)   S/^FEJT  UMl 
U  T©   fSISM   SEMI1N1&   ^  /LEI 


SM'T   THi?3T 


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ft 


TLhc  Minuet 


'  T  "X  7"  AY  back  in  the  long  ago, — yes,  away  back  when 
V  V  George  Washington  was  a  day,  they  danced  the 
minuet — our  dear  little  Great-Grandmothers  and  manly 
little  Great-Grandfathers.  T/iey  did  n't  know  that  they 
were  Great-Grandfathers  and  Great-Grandmothers,  but  we 
know,  for  they  were  our  own,  and  here  we  are  ! 

In  rows  they  stood — the  billowy  silken  skirts  of  the 
girls  opposite  the  velvet  coats  and  satin  knee-breeches  of 
the  boys.  It  was  the  loveliest  dress  to  wear  in  that 
stately  dance.  The  long  coats  of  rich  colors  on  the 
boyish  figures,  and  rustling  silken  skirts  on  the  sweet 
girls  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  slow  figures. 

With  a  sweeping  rustling  curtsy,  with  a  bend  of  the 
satin  waistcoats,  with  a  sweet  chord  on  the  spinet  and 
guitar,  the  dance  began.  Back  and  forth  went  the  solemn 
little  folks,  never  faster  than  a  walk,  keeping  time  to 
the  delightful  one,  two,  three  of  the  music — crossing 
and  re-crossing  in  the  different  figures,  following  the  head 


couples  in  a  stately  march — two  and  two.     Now  bending 


kV' 


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XTbe  /Dinuet. 

in  graceful  curtsys,  while  the  little  cavaliers  knelt  and  saluted  the  tips  of  dimpled  fingers,  then  holding 
aloft  silken  scarfs  in  airy  folds,  entwining  and  interlacing  all  together.  Soft  and  sweet  the  chords  of  music, 
dark  the  shining  floors,  reflecting  bright  candle  lights  and  dainty  satin-clad  feet.  Rich  the  colors  of  the 
beautiful  gowns  and  coats,  and  sweet,  oh  !  sweet,  the  dimpled  rosy  faces  of  the  dear  little  children,  as  they 
trod  the  sober  measures  of  that  most  graceful  of  dances — the  minuet  of  the  long  ago  ! 


.-■,i 


Ww®. 


(^<•-. 


^:0^j   E 


H  Stori2  of  ©Iben 


"S 


IT  down  here  by  me,  my  little  Alice,  and  you  shall 
hear  me  read  a  story, — yes,  a  true  story  about 
your  own  Great-Grandmother.  She  has  written  it  here  in 
this  little  book  for  us  to  read,  the  story  of  how  she  left 
her  dear  old  home  in  sunny  England  to  come  across  the 
wide  ocean  in  a  poor  little  boat,  not  at  all  like  the  wonder- 
ful steamers  of  nowadays. 

"  Your  Grandmother,  dear  Alice,  was  a  little  girl,  and 
well  remembers  the  tiresome  voyage  over  those  long,  long 
miles  of  tossing  waves.  There  were  many  delights  and 
novelties  for  her,  as  the  sailors  of  the  ship  were  very  kind 
to  her,  and  loved  to  toss  her  up  in  their  strong  arms,  for 
she  was  never  sick,  and  would  stay  up  on  the  deck  as 
long  as  she  would  be  allowed  to,  looking  out  over  the 
waves  when  others  were  down  below  in  their  berths. 
These  sailors  would  tell  her  stories,  and  they  grew  very 
fond  of  seeing  the  little  figure  in  her  red  cloak,  watching 
them  with  her  bright  eyes,  and  listening  to  their  songs. 

"  But  her  mother,  with  many  other  mothers,  was  ill 
all  the  long  dreary  way,  and  a  sorry  time  they  had,  all 
crowded  together  in  the  stuffy  little  cabin  down  below. 


/,-! 


-f^ 


H  Stori?  of  ®l&cn  ^fmes. 


Many  times  Grandmother  has  told  me  of  it  all,  and  of  how  at  last  they  got  to  the  new,  strange  land  which 
was  our  America,  where  they  found  such  cold  and  rocky  shores,  and  where  their  fathers  had  to  build  houses 
out  of  logs  for  them  to  live  in,  and  had  to  build  them  strongly  to  keep  out  Indians  and  wolves.  Everybody 
helped  :  even  the  little  children  carried  things  to  help  in  the  building.  How  glad  they  were  for  every  little 
thing  they  had  brought  with  them  from  England  ! — pins  and  all  such  things, — for  there  was  none  at  all  in 
this  new  country.  Oh,  those  were  hard,  hard  times,  little  Dorothy,  and  they  were  brave  people,  your  grand- 
parents, to  do  it  all  for  freedom  for  us  ! 


"And  freedom  we  will  have  some  day  in  this  America,  for  even  now  thine  own  father,  whose  portrait 
hangs  beside  you,  and  all  the  fathers  in  the  land  are  determined  that  we  shall  be  free  from  English  rule, 
even  if  there  must  be  a  war." 


Long,  long  ago  these  words  were  spoken,  and  this  story,  told  to  listening  little  Alice  who  is  a  Great- 
Grandmother  now  herself,  and  long  ago  gone  away, — and  see  how  the  words  of  the  gentle  lady  came  true ! 
The  war  she  told  about  did  come.  Alice's  father,  and  the  fathers  of  her  little  friends,  had  the  war  that  we 
celebrate  on  our  Fourth  of  July,  and  to-day,  in  this  dear  land  of  ours,  we  are  having  the  freedom  they 
fought  for. 

Be  glad  of  those  true-hearted,  brave  Great-6f^rt'«/-GRi:AT-Grandfathers  of  yours,  children  dear. 


a^ 


*>>■> 


s^ 


♦-  ^ 


^^       »2!^ 


mh  TMEKE  1  ME 


''^m 

M 

f 


"HUE  IS  ni  Li^&IE  C®nE-T®-SEE!" 
imh  STEFFIIM^  r®KTM  i^LL  fe/^IMTILT 
WITH  ^l^^E  SHE  C'SJiRTSEYEB)  LOW  T©  ME. 


4  *\ 


Ubc  Xittle  la&ie  of  tbe  Se&an  Cbatr. 


E  PROq^HT  WITH  <Z.ARS, 


nr  L/^&IE  IM  MEK  SEE 

WITH  iSLL  MER  flMERT  T©  WE/^K, 


F@R  'TIS  ,^  WEEK  TM^T  SHE  WILL  ST^T! 


J,    ibvik.iruu%9 


WHi^T  15,/^M  WE  i>0  T@  KEEF  T®<y!  ME/iI„ 
MN&  rii^KE  YO'yil  ¥1SIT  Li^ST  /^  YEiSK? 


■i*'^ 


•  nt*.m  r^t^VtTK.  »  4*«»n  ri 


Dreaming  before  the  ®Ib 
Jire*lplace. 


THERE  she  sits  in  front  of  the  fire,  dreaming  the 
dreams  that  a  little  maid  dreams  when  twilight  and 
bedtime  are  coming  on,  and  the  flames  curl  themselves  so 
easily  into  the  long  golden  hair  of  floating  fairies.  Then 
in  the  old  mirror  over  the  chimney  are  reflected  all  the 
dear  old  nursery  friends  of  tale  and  rhyme  and  Mother 
Goose.  Puss-in-boots  is  there,  and  princesses,  stern  old 
knights,  and  helpful  little  fairies,  who  always  make  things 
come  right  in  the  stories. 

And  in  the  centre  of  all,  there  is  the  enchanting  Prince, 
whose  curls  of  gold  float  out,  and  who  smiles  down  into 
her  eyes  as  she  sits  and  dreams  of  him — so  brave,  and 
gallant,  and  gay !  The  room  is  full  of  her  fancies,  and 
they  come  down  and  take  her  hand,  and  touch  her  eyes  so 
that  she  sees  in  the  glowing  coals  castles,  turrets,  knights, 
and  burning  cities. 

Sit  down  by  the  big  fire  yourself  some  night,  when 
you  're  tired  of  play,  just  before  bedtime,  and  look  for 
them  all  in  that  big  bed  of  coals,  tucked  in  among  the 
logs  and  flames.  See  that  burning  bridge !  There  is  a 
galloping  dragon  with  smoke  from  his  eyes  coming  over 


Breaming  before  tbe  ©lb  ff(re«ipiace. 


it,  and  swiftly  it  burns,  and  just  as  he  gets  to  the  centre,  crash  down  it  goes,  burnt 
through  by  the  fire-sword  of  a  trusty  flame-fairy.  Down  go  two  ends  of  a  burnt 
brand,  and  the  bridge  becomes  a  burning  castle,  with  windows  all  where  the  black 
places  are.  Over  there  is  a  tiger  with  glowing  eyes,  coming  out  of  the  smoke,  and 
those  little  blue  and  yellow  flames  are  graceful  fire-fairies,  waving  and  vanishing 
up  the  dark  old  chimney.  Oh,  it  is  the  best  place  of  all  to  dream  beside,  and  to 
see  pictures  in  at  twilight.  Try  it  and  see  for  yourselves.  And  now— just  as  the 
dark  is  curtaining  the  light  in  the  windows,  so  that  the  glowing  fire-fairies  can  come 
out  and  fill  all  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  just  as  you  are  having  such  a  very  good 
time  seeing  them  all  and  telling  about  them,  the  door  opens,  and  somebody,  nurse 
perhaps,  says  that  bedtime  has  come ! 

Here  across  the  page  you  go — little  figures  clad  in  long  white  robes,  with 
very  sleepy  eyes,  full  of  the  dreams  you  are  going  to  have,  with  candles  in  hand, 
with  locks  neatly  tucked  up,  curled  up, 
and  covered  with  caps  for  the  night.  With 
bare  feet,  going  across  the  hall  and  up 
the  stairs  away  you  all  go — into  the  soft 
beds  in  the  nursery,  waiting  like  white 
ships  to  carry  you  all  across  the  sea  of 
night  into  the  Island  of  Dreamland,  where 
all  the  fire-light  stories  and  dreams  come 
true,  and  last  for  the  whole  night  through. 


J^ 


V  '^ 


^' 


JSattlc5ore  an^  Sbuttlecocft  in  a  OarCcn 


QdTER  man 

TMEIIP 
SOfTER 


E5   f^RE  4nh  ^LE/SKp 
ROSE-LE 
mET 


IM   /!5ILL  TME 

TMEIE   IS 

IN   ¥/SSE  ©H 


SELTEKEfe   FLi!3<SES, 


TMEIK   FKTqiEJ  ^Li 
LIKE 


\ 


t^l 


'Ji 


\ 


IT  was  the  day  before  Christmas,  many  years  ago. 
Everybody  was  busy  preparing  for  the  happy  day,  in 
the  way  they  used  to  do  in  those  Colonial  days.  The 
Christmas  had  to  be  just  as  much  like  the  Christmases  in 
Old  England  as  they  could  have  it  in  the  New  England, 
for  the  sake  of  the  old  folks  who  had  spent  the  holidays 
of  their  childhood  in  the  Old  England.  The  house  was 
all  trimmed  with  greens  from  top  to  bottom,  and  even  the 
great  Yule  Log  was  carried  in  on  Xmas  Eve,  decked  with 
wreaths  of  holly.  Only  here  it  was  carried  in  by  grinning 
Sambo  and  Pompey — the  jolly  servants  of  the  new  country. 
Little  Red  Riding  Hood  went  all  alone  that  day  clear  all 
the  way  to  Grandmother  Pennyhurst's.  It  was  a  mile  away 
and  over  the  snowy  country.  Everybody  was  busy 
putting  up  greens,  and  Cousin  Althea  even  had  a  bunch  of 
mistletoe  which  she  hung  high  in  a  rather  conspicuous 
place  in  the  hall.  It  came  in  a  box  from  England,  with 
some  holly  from  the  dear  old  homestead  there,  and  Little 
Red  Riding  Hood  thought  of  how  dearly  Grandma 
Pennyhurst  would  love  to  have  in  her  Christmas  decora- 
tions a  bit  of  the  real  old  holly  from  her  own  home.     So 


/^(t^ 


a  Colonial  Xittle  1ReJ>  IRi&lnfi  Doo^. 


she  picked  out  a  nice  big  spray,  and  putting  on  her  cloak,  like  the  other  Red  Riding  Hood,  set  off  across  the 
road  all  by  herself. 

It  seemed  a  very  long  way,  and  it  began  to  grow  dark  sooner  than  she  had  thought  it  would,  and  as 
she  trudged  along  she  felt  a  bit  lonely.  Suddenly,  out  of  the  bushes  beside  the  road,  she  saw  two  fiery 
eyes,  and  out  stepped  a  great  gray  dog,  who  had  a  fierce  red  mouth  and  who  snarled  at  her  when  she  spoke 
kindly  to  him,  and  did  not  seem  a  bit  friendly.  He  slouched  along  beside  her  a  few  steps,  sniffing  at  her 
cloak,  and  then  throwing  up  his  head  he  gave  a  long  queer  howl,  and  trotted  off  into  the  woods  across 
the  road. 

Then  the  little  girl  was  frightened  indeed,  for  she  knew  that  howl  was  the  howl  of  a  wolf !  She  was 
very  glad  to  look  up  and  find  the  house  so  near,  just  across  the  field  now.  And  as  she  ran  quickly  towards 
it  over  the  snow  by  the  shortest  cut,  she  realized  it  all.  This,  she  was  sure,  was  the  Real  Wolf  in  the  story 
of  Little  Red  Riding  Hood,  who  seeing  her  red  cloak  had  thought  her  to  be  that  same  little  girl  going  to 
Grandmother's  with  her  basket ;  but  when  he  sniffed  at  her  cloak,  he  knew  it  was  not  the  same,  and  so 
he  ran  away  again. 

When  she  reached  the  house,  and  told  them  about  her  adventure,  her  Grandmother  clasped  her  Little 
Red  Riding  Hood  closely  in  her  arms  and  said  :  "  My  darling  child,  you  have  escaped  a  great  danger !  That 
was  the  wolf  that  has  lately  carried  off  Farmer  Black's  lambs  from  his  fold,  and  he  only  ran  away  because  he 
saw  the  house  was  so  near ! " 

This  was  what  Grandma  thought  of  it.  Which  do  you  think  was  the  true  version — hers  or  the 
little  girl's  ? 


'^  ^i^.^ 


aiC- 


I'T/  ft  -^^-^i 


Zbc  jfencino  Xesson. 


WILFRED'S  father's  friend,  the  Gentleman  from 
France,  was  Wilfred's  hero  in  everything.  He 
was  so  brave,  so  handsome,  so  clever,  and  so  full  of 
song  and  story  of  strange,  interesting  life  across  the  seas, 
told  in  his  pretty  broken  speech,  part  English,  part 
French. 

The  Gentleman  from  France  had  no  other  name  to 
Wilfred  and  the  children,  for  it  was  the  only  one  they 
ever  found  out  that  he  had.  No  one  would  tell  them 
any  other.  He  was  a  rather  mysterious  gentleman,  for 
he  came  suddenly  one  night,  and  the  children,  finding 
him  at  breakfast  next  morning,  were  bidden  to  ask  no 
questions,  and  he  just  stayed  on  in  their  home.  They  all 
loved  him,  Wilfred  especially,  for  he  was  so  jolly,  and  so 
fond  of  playing  with  them.  But  sometimes  he  used  to 
sit  and  look  very  sad,  and  then  if  the  children  spoke  to 
him,  he  would  answer  them  in  French,  with  a  far-away 
look  in  his  eyes. 

One  day,  when  Wilfred  was  taking  his  lesson  in  French 
from  the  Gentleman,  he  asked  about  those  two  long,  thin 
swords  which  hung  crossed  on  the  wall,  over  the  picture 
of  a  dark-haired  lady,  in  the  Gentleman's  room. 


t^tf  »     **■  ■  •' 


£1:. 


tlbe  ffcncfng  Xcsson. 


The  Gentleman  from  France  turned  quickly  away  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  saying  nothing  for 
a  long  while. 

Then  he  turned  to  Wilfred  standing  asking  there,  and  said,  "  It  is  a  long,  thin,  cruel  sword — very 
little — very  thin — but  it  killed  my  friend.      It  is  for  that  I  came  to  America." 

Wilfred  was  very  much  interested,  and  after  waiting  a  long  time,  while  the  Gentleman  from  France 
looked  sadly  far  out  of  the  window,  he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  know  how  to  use  the  long  thin  sword."  The 
Gentleman  turned  about  quickly,  and  laughed  the  sadness  out  of  his  eyes,  saying,  "  Boys  are  all  alike,  of  every 
country.  Over  in  France,  every  gentleman  knows  how  to  use  these  swords.  Come,  I  will  teach  you."  So 
he  took  a  pair  of  foils,  and  they  went  out  on  the  sunny  piazza,  and  there  Wilfred  had  his  first  lesson  in 
fencing. 

After  that,  this  Gentleman  from  France  taught  all  the  boys  in  the  neighborhood,  as  all  their  parents 
were  glad  of  so  good  a  chance  for  having  their  sons  learn  this  gentlemanly  art  ;  for,  in  those  warlike  days, 
it  was  deemed  very  necessary  for  every  man  to  know  how  to  use  a  sword  in  his  own  or  his  country's  defence. 

And  what  a  good  time  they  had  !  How  exciting  it  was  to  get  their  foils,  and  gloves,  and  masks,  and 
to  throw  off  their  coats,  and  learn  to  parry,  and  thrust,  and  bend,  with  the  fascinating,  long,  thin  steel 
foils  glancing  in  the  sunshine.  Of  course  these  had  little  buttons  on  the  ends,  so  no  one  could  get  hurt, 
and  the  handsome  Gentleman  from  France  became  very  excited  and  jolly  over  it  all. 

And  so  it  came  about,  that  while  poor  little  Prudence  had  to  stay  in  the  house  and  learn  to  embroider, 
and  spin,  and  sew,  Wilfred,  out  on  the  lawn  in  the  healthful  sunlight,  was  taught  to  use  the  foils  as  a 
gentleman  should. 


i^.W 


u 


Sunbai2  fll^orni^o  a  Ibunbreb 
19ear8  Hao. 


ONE  Sunday,  lovely  cousin  Kitty  said,  "Dorothy 
Allen  shall  go  to  church  with  me."  So  Dorothy 
was  dressed  in  her  white  dimity  skirt,  with  the  blue 
pelisse,  had  her  freshest  cap  tied  on,  took  Cousin  Kitty's 
book,  and  went  out  of  the  garden  gate  and  down  the 
sunny  street  on  the  bright  June  day  to  church.  The  only 
other  time  she  had  been  she  could  n't  remember,  for  it 
was  when  she  wore  long,  long  baby  dresses,  and  was 
carried  on  a  lace  pillow  to  get  her  name,  Dorothy 
Catherine  Pettigrew  Allen,  from  the  minister.  Now  she 
was  four  years  old,  she  was  sure  she  was  quite  big  enough 
to  go.  How  proud  and  pleased  she  felt  as  they  walked 
along  the  village  street  and  saw  all  the  other  children 
going  too ;  and  how  grand  she  felt  as  she  sailed  up  the 
aisle  beside  Cousin  Kitty. 

She  sat  up  very  straight  and  still  in  the  high  pew,  and 
watched  what  everybody  did.  They  sang  very  long  and 
loud  hymns,  and  everybody  sang.  Every  lady  had  a  sprig 
of  rosemary  or  lavender  carried  in  her  prayer-book,  and 
the  air  had  a  faint  perfume  of  it  all  the  time.  Up  there 
in  the  choir  were  the  little  charity-school   children,    all 


Sun&ap  /Domino  a  Dun&rcl)  J^cars  Hgo. 


dressed  just  alike  in  close  caps,  dark  cotton  gowns,  short  sleeves,  and  mitts.  They  stood  in  rows,  and  sang 
away  at  the  hymns,— some  girls  as  little  as  Dorothy, — with  their  rosy  faces  and  wistful  eyes.  And  under  the 
gallery  was  such  a  very  cross-looking  man  with  a  long  stick,  who  leaned  over  and  poked  the  boys  and  people 
who  went  to  sleep,  waking  them  up  to  listen  to  the  sermon.  Cousin  Kitty  whispered  that  he  was  the 
tithing  man — and  Dorothy  must  look  out  or  he  would  be  having  to  wake  her  up.  But  Dorothy  knew  that 
she  was  quite  too  big  a  girl  to  go  to  sleep, — and  anyway  his  eyes  seemed  always  shut,  though  he  never 
missed  seeing  a  sleeping  boy  or  girl. 

many  hymns  and  long,  long 
into  a  tall  pulpit,  and  began 
His  voice  was  very  solemn, 
for   no    one   answered  him   a 


At  last,  after  a  great 
prayers,  the  minister  climbed 
to  talk,  and  talk,  and  talk, 
and  the  church  was  very  still, 
word. 

The  air  came  in  very 
and  windows,  and  a  bee  came 
Dorothy  heard  outside  the 
and  sneezing  long  "  whoups." 
twittering  in  the  trees  and  in 
a  little  swallow  flew  in  and 
head,  and  then  flew  out  again, 
the  high  wooden  pew.  Then 
the  aisle  going  to  sleep,  and 
as  his  eyes  shut  tighter,  and 
did  not  seem  to  see  him.  She 
that  she  leaned  forward,  and 
back  where  her  warm  little 
against  the  varnishy  -  sticky 
his  eyes  with  a  jerk,  saw 
Thomas  awoke  at  the  other 
that  upset  his  father's  book. 

Dorothy  blushed  very 
proper  and  good,  but  Cousin 
handed  her  a  leaf  of  rosemary 
very  long  in  the  days  when 
and  the  voice  went  on,  and 
was  still  and  hot.  She  sat 
herself  awake — but  presently  everything  looked  dim,  and  her  little  cap  was  nodding  like  a  heavy  white  rose 
on  its  stem.  And  the  voice  grew  far  away — and  the  next  thing  she  knew  was  a  poke,  and  there  at  her  pew 
was  that  horrid  tithing  man  !  He  was  actually  smiling,  and  every  one  else  looked  around  and  smiled  at  the 
"  child  who  had  to  be  waked  up  in  church." 

Poor  Dorothy  !  It  was  too  much  for  her,  and  she  sank  in  a  heap  of  bashful  misery  to  the  bottom  of 
the  pew,  burying  her  crimson  face  in  the  cushions,  where  Cousin  Kitty  let  her  stay  till  church  was  out,  and 
then  she  only  took  her  hand  and  said,  "  Never  mind."  But  poor  Dorothy  was  deeply  humiliated  to  think 
that  so  great  a  girl  as  she  had  gone  to  sleep  in  church  the  first  time  she  went. 


THE  CHARITY  CHILDREN. 


hot  through  the  open  doors 
in  and  buzzed  about,  and 
horses  stamping  the  flies  away 
The  birds  were  singing  and 
the  lanes  of  the  church,  and 
circled  among  the  rafters  over- 
Dorothy  leaned  back  against 
she  saw  Thomas  Ryder  across 
his  mouth  dropped  wider  open 
the  old  man  under  the  gallery 
got  so  interested  in  watching, 
crack  went  her  white  dimity 
shoulders  had  been  leaning 
pew.  The  tithing  man  opened 
Thomas,  leaned  forward,  and 
end  of  the  stick  with  a  jump 

much,  for  she  wanted  to  be  so 
Kitty  smiled  kindly  and 
to  smell.  Sermons  were  ver)-, 
Dorothy  Allen  went  to  church, 
on,  and  on.  And  the  church 
up    very    straight,     to     keep 


-iaC- 


o 


.-e 


I  FOUND  her  in  a  garret  one  day,  tucked  away  in  the 
bottom  of  an  old  chest, — this  old,  old  dollie  !  She  was 
such  a  funny-looking  dear,  and  I  took  her  out  and  smoothed 
her  wrinkled  and  quaint  gown  of  brocaded  silk,  wonder- 
ing how  a  little  girl  could  have  loved  a  doll  with  such  ugly 
hands  and  queer  hair.  But  a  real  little  girl  had  loved  her, 
and  she  was  my  own  great-grandmother.  For  I  found, 
pinned  to  her  gown,  a  note,  yellow  with  age,  which  told 
me  all  about  her.     This  is  what  it  said  : 

"  Written  by  my  mother  for  me,   to  my  dear  grand- 
||^j/    child  who  will  first  find  this  doll.     Keep  her  always  as 
I  've  left  her,  for  it  is  with  tears  I  put  her  away,  having 
grown  too  great  a  girl  to  play  with  her  any  more,  as  I  am 
nine  years  old !    She  was  sent  to  me  from    London,  and 
^rN^      [(        cost  4  guineas,  and  her  clothing,  made  by  a  fashionable 
'^  dress-maker,  cost  ^4,45.,  a  great  price  for  a  doll !    I  never 

shall  forget  the  day  I  got  her.     I  stood  her  in  a  chair  and 
danced  before  her  in  my  great  pleasure.     I  loved  her  very 
much,  and  will  tell  you  how  I  always  thought  she  saved 
my  life. 
Vr'^. \\  "I  w^s  P'^y'"g  alone  on  the  beach,  and,  tripping  my 

toe,  I  fell  into  a  deep  hole  by  the  roots  of  a  tree,  and  a 


a  Doll's  Oreat-0ran5motber. 


great  heap  of  sand  falling  in  with  me  nearly  covered  me  up,  and  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  get  out.  I 
called,  but  no  one  heard,  and  my  ankle,  which  I  had  twisted,  becoming  very  painful,  I  fainted,  and  I  surely 
should  have  been  drowned  by  the  tide  which  was  coming  in,  while  insensible,  had  it  not  been  that  my  dear 
doll  Florinda  lay  in  such  a  manner  that  her  foot  and  part  of  her  gown  were  outside  the  sand  in  the  hole, 
where  I  was  buried,  and  Jim,  the  black  boy,  coming  by,  saw  her  lying  there.  He  dug  her  out,  and  so  dis- 
covered me  and  saved  me.  He  was  so  excited  that  he  left  my  poor  dear  doll  behind,  and  the  tide  had 
already  wet  her,  when  I,  waking  up  in  my  mother's  arms,  called  out  for  my  Florinda,  and  Jim  was  hurried  off 
to  fetch  her.  The  stain  on  her  gown  was  caused  by  the  salt  water,  and  I  hope  you  will  love  her  very  much, 
and  keep  her  with  care  as  I  did. 

"  Your  Loving  Grandmother, 

"  In  the  9th  year  of  her  age — 1775." 

Was  n't  that  the  loveliest  thing  to  find  ?  And  she  is  my  verj'  own  Grca^-Gra.ndma,  for  her  dollie  was 
so  hidden  away  that  I  was  the  first  little  girl  to  find  it  after  all  those  years.  We  keep  her  as  a  great  treasure, 
and  my  dolls  respect  her  very  much,  for  she  is  i/iez'r  Great-Grandmother,  I  suppose. 


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